The Scroll Merchant

The weeks bled together in a quiet rhythm of early mornings, fire-warmed hands, and aching joints that weren't her own. Hikari worked hard—harder than any six-year-old should—but she'd convinced herself it was necessary. Every massage, every earned ryo, every client was another stone placed in the foundation of her future.

She rose with the dawn, studied by lamp light, and copied seals in the hours between. Her chakra control had improved through sheer repetition. And while she still couldn't make paper appear from thin air or craft complex seals from memory, she was no longer burning holes in the desk.

Her body, despite the nutritional setbacks, was adapting. Her chakra reserves were larger now—still not impressive by shinobi standards, but far better than when she first arrived. Enough for multiple massages a day without collapsing. Enough to keep going.

But it was Yumiko who first noticed the change in her.

"You're not even eating properly," the old woman said, placing a hand on her shoulder as Hikari quietly tried to slip past her one morning.

"I ate a rice ball earlier," Hikari muttered, eyes averted.

"Half a rice ball, and it was yesterday's," Yumiko snapped. "Sit. Eat. Now."

Hikari obeyed, but only because her legs were sore and she didn't feel like arguing. She picked at the millet porridge silently, chewing slowly while the oil lamp cast warm gold across the worn wood of the kitchen walls.

"You've been pushing yourself," Yumiko said at last, settling across from her with a sigh. "It's good that you want to rebuild the family name, but… this isn't you. Not the way you were before."

Hikari froze.

Yumiko's eyes softened. "You were a quiet girl. Curious. Dreamy, even. But never like this. Not this… focused. It's like you're afraid of stopping."

The silence sat heavy.

"I…" Hikari hesitated. "I just want to help."

"You do help." Yumiko reached over, brushing a thumb gently under Hikari's eye. "But you're still a child. You don't have to carry all of this alone."

Something in Hikari's chest twisted, sharp and sudden.

"I'm not—" she tried, but her voice cracked. Her brows furrowed. "Why… does my chest hurt?"

Tears were rolling before she could stop them. She hadn't realized she was crying until Yumiko stood up and gently wrapped her arms around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Oh, sweetheart. It's alright," the old woman murmured. "It's alright to be tired. You're not alone anymore. You don't have to prove anything."

Hikari curled into her, confused by the ache rising in her throat.

Because it wasn't about proving anything.

It was about earning it. Earning warmth. Safety. Family.

---

She had always been the girl who tried harder.

In her past life, her parents were hardly ever home. Her father worked construction, her mother cleaned hotel rooms on rotating night shifts. Her grandmother, old and sharp-tongued, believed in boys inheriting the family legacy. Hikari—just the girl—was raised to be quiet and invisible.

"Why can't you be more like your brothers?" Grandma used to snap.

And when Hikari's grades dipped or her cough lingered too long, dinner was skipped. She remembered the ache of hunger more than she remembered birthdays.

College had been a lifeline. She clawed her way into pre-med, working late shifts at a pharmacy and sleeping on buses between campuses. But no one helped. No one noticed when she collapsed during finals week, or when she lost too much weight to keep her coat buttoned.

When the illness finally broke her, it wasn't sudden. It was slow. A drawn-out unraveling of years and years of quiet suffering.

And no one cried when she died.

---

The next morning, she took her time.

She still had clients—two appointments scheduled, and a delivery from Granny Mizu waiting—but she didn't rush. She sat and ate with Yumiko, listening instead of just nodding. She swept the front step and noticed the way the sun angled between the buildings, soft and golden. She caught herself smiling.

The change wasn't dramatic. She still worked. Still saved every coin. But the pace was different. It was no longer frantic survival.

It was… living.

---

By late afternoon, her tasks were done. Her coin pouch felt heavier than usual—one client had slipped her an extra 200 ryo for getting the knots out of his hip. With 700 total, she could've gone straight home and saved it.

Instead, she wandered.

The rain hadn't started yet, but the clouds were heavy above. The streets were busy, boots and sandals splashing through puddles, voices haggling over crates of root vegetables and woven cloth. The scent of roasted chestnuts drifted from a food stall.

She let her feet carry her aimlessly until a storefront caught her eye.

It was small—wedged between a fishmonger and a tailor—but clean. Inside, fabric bolts hung from the walls like banners. A rack near the door held simple dresses and work clothes, all neatly folded.

She stepped inside.

A bell jingled above her. The shopkeeper nodded, then returned to measuring a length of dark blue fabric behind the counter.

For the first time since arriving in this world, Hikari walked among the clothes not looking for hand-me-downs or practicality—but for herself.

Got it! Here's a revised scene with Hikari still in the shop, browsing for something dark-colored and practical—something she buys with pocket money from Yumiko. It leans into her trying to present herself more professionally while also being practical with massage oils, and keeps the tone grounded:

---

The tunic she had picked up—light green and soft—was quickly returned to the rack. As pretty as it was, it wasn't practical. She rubbed her fingers together, thinking of the slight oily sheen that lingered after every massage. It'd stain light colors easily.

Her eyes drifted to a display near the back of the shop—darker fabrics. Navy, plum, charcoal. She made her way over slowly, drawn in by a simple but elegant outfit folded neatly on the shelf: a deep violet wrap tunic with wide sleeves, paired with black linen trousers. Both had subtle embroidery at the hems, just enough detail to look polished, but not flashy.

It was professional. Clean. Washable.

The kind of outfit a young businesswoman might wear—someone trying to be taken seriously.

She lifted the tunic and held it up to herself in the mirror. It was a little big, but not enough to be awkward. If anything, it made her look a touch older. More respectable. And the dark fabric would hide any stray oil stains from her chakra massages.

The tag read 820 ryo.

Not cheap—but not unreasonable.

She bit her lip, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out the small fabric pouch Yumiko had given her at the beginning of the month. A little pocket money, so you can feel like a real girl again, she'd said.

Inside: 1,000 ryo.

Hikari hesitated. This was most of it. But the thought of greeting future clients in her mother's hand-altered childhood robes again made her chest tighten. This… this would be hers. Her first real outfit. Something chosen for her and her alone.

She brought it to the counter and quietly placed the outfit on top.

The shopkeeper raised a brow. "Nice choice. Durable stitching. Good for work."

Hikari nodded, trying to suppress the small flutter in her chest. "Yeah. That's the idea."

The clerk rang it up, and she handed over her pouch.

As the folded clothes were placed into a paper bag and handed back to her, she tucked it under her arm and turned back toward the racks—pretending to browse just a little longer.

That was when she saw her.

Konan.

Still across the room. Still looking at scarves.

Still unmistakably watching her.

Konan's gaze didn't waver.

Sharp blue eyes flicked from Hikari's face to her hands, lingering there just a bit too long. It wasn't a casual glance—this was a shinobi's scrutiny. And she could feel it like static brushing over her skin.

She noticed my chakra, Hikari thought, chest tightening. I wasn't using it, but maybe there was residual… or maybe she just recognizes my face.

Konan turned her attention back to the scarves—unfolding one, inspecting it. Calm. Casual. But not unaware.

Hikari clutched the paper bag tighter under her arm, suddenly second-guessing everything. Maybe she should leave. Maybe she should just walk out and pretend she never saw—

"Ah, I knew you looked familiar!" the shopkeeper chirped from behind the counter, jolting Hikari back to the moment. "My cousin—Shino? Lives by the river road—he says you fixed his bad shoulder. He hasn't stopped talking about it! That little massage trick of yours? Genius!"

Hikari blinked, startled. "O-oh… Thank you."

"She's such a smart little thing," the clerk continued, nodding enthusiastically. "Not even grown and already running her own business! Honestly, it's inspiring. You should've seen how fast word spread—people lining up just to get a spot!"

Hikari could feel Konan's gaze shift again, this time less sharp. Curious, maybe. She didn't know if the clerk's chatter helped or hurt—but it gave her an opening.

Time to cast the line.

"Well," Hikari said, brightening with a practiced smile, "I actually have a little time right now. If you or any of the shoppers want a quick demo massage—just ten minutes—I'm happy to give one. My chakra-based techniques help with stiffness, poor circulation, even old injuries."

The woman behind the counter gasped like Hikari had offered gold.

"Oh, don't tempt me! My feet are killing me," she laughed, then turned to a pair of middle-aged women by the gloves display. "You hear that? She's offering samples!"

Hikari smiled and turned ever-so-slightly—just enough to catch Konan in her peripheral vision.

"Even just ten minutes can make a world of difference," she added, voice still light and chipper, but her pulse thrummed with focus. "I specialize in targeting tension spots. My chakra has a natural warmth to it—really good for rainy weather pains."

Konan's eyes narrowed again.

Hikari didn't look at her. Didn't flinch. Just kept smiling like she was the most innocent, helpful little thing in the store.

Come on, she thought. Bite the hook.

Let me prove I'm useful.

Let me in.

---

The bell above the door chimed again.

"Konan!" a cheerful voice called out.

Hikari turned, half-expecting another client—but instead, a tall boy stepped inside with rain-dampened clothes and striking orange hair, plastered to his forehead in curls. His presence lit up the room, not just because of his grin, but because he walked like the rain didn't touch him—like he belonged wherever he went.

"There you are," he said, shaking water off his sleeves. "Nagato's been looking for you. He said you disappeared after breakfast."

"I said I was going to the fabric stalls," Konan replied coolly, though her eyes flicked briefly to Hikari.

The orange-haired boy's gaze followed.

His eyebrows lifted when he noticed the small line of women around Hikari, and the relaxed sigh of the one currently rotating her shoulder like a stiffness had just melted away.

"Oh?" he stepped forward. "Did I walk into a pop-up clinic or something?"

"She's offering chakra massages," the store clerk chimed brightly. "That little thing's magic with her hands. My cousin swears her arthritis hasn't flared since she started seeing her."

Hikari gave a polite bow. "Just something I learned from my mother. It's helped a few people."

The boy's eyes glinted with amusement. "Is that so?"

He reached behind his neck and rolled his shoulder with a slight grimace. "I've been hauling crates for half the day. Want to test your skills on me?"

Konan shot him a side glance, her mouth tightening—but not objecting.

Hikari smiled softly, hands already warming with chakra. "Of course. If you're alright being my next test subject."

"Oh, I'm more than alright," he said, plopping onto the stool like he was born for it. "Show me what you've got, girl."

Konan, for once, didn't interrupt.

She just stood by the rack of deep violet robes, eyes locked on Hikari, watching with cool calculation.